


Three dots of nothing in the circle of the world

by redsnake05



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Asexuality, Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-18
Updated: 2010-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/pseuds/redsnake05
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dumbledore leaves the trio the means to destroy Voldemort, they hesitate. It looks real, but there are pieces missing from the puzzle. In the aftermath, they discover that all their best guesses as to the consequences of their actions are wrong, that Dumbledore was less than truthful, and that they have only each other left to hold on to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three dots of nothing in the circle of the world

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 36 Stratagems community on DW, for the prompt _Sacrifice the plum tree to preserve the peach tree._ There are circumstances in which you must sacrifice short-term objectives in order to gain the long-term goal. This is the scapegoat strategy whereby someone else suffers the consequences so that the rest do not.

When Hermione opened her eyes, the sky was bluer than she could ever remember it being. Ron said he remembered that the red of the sunset was dark like blood and secrets spilled over the horizon, and Harry remembered nothing bar the first star blooming in violet. They all remembered the black, burnt circle of the grass up to the first of their circles of salt and spells; the springing green under them in the second, and the trees right against the edge of the third like a silent audience in an amphitheatre. Hermione was sure she could hear the faint sound of applause as she woke.

"Did we do it?" asked Harry. The circles under his eyes were dark and Hermione wanted to smooth them away with her thumb. Ron brushed his hand down Harry's back to get rid of a last few twigs, bringing it back up to rest on the back of his neck. They both looked at Hermione and she could see the hope on their faces. Bending back over her wand and parchment, she kept muttering the spells, even as she felt the exhaustion creeping over her skin like the smell of the dead grass. Harry watched her hands shaking. He'd never liked waiting; Ron's hand on his nape was all that was keeping him still.

Hermione looked up from her parchment, letting her wand hand drop as her relief and joy rose in her chest. She felt her smile blooming on her face and saw the tension ease out of Harry's shoulders, even before she opened her mouth.

"We did it," she said. "He's gone." She'd barely finished before they were by her side, two sets of arms wrapping around her and each other, hers around them, heads bent together. The bubble of joy growing between them should have been visible; it was incandescent as it burnt through them. Hermione could feel it in her chest; a growing circle of light and hope, and the sheer, dizzying happiness of success. Ron and Harry were right there with her, pressed up so close that she could smell their sweat and their fear, feel their magic and their love. It was heady; she started to laugh. Ron joined her, and she could feel Harry's shoulders shaking under her hands. It wasn't until she felt the wetness on her cheeks that she realised she was crying too. She'd not expected liberty to feel like this; it was shaky and uncertain, huge with potential and danger.

She didn't want to let go. She had no idea how long they stood there, letting their feelings flow back and forth and their heartbeats ease. It was fully dark when she finally loosened fingers that had grown numb from Ron's robes. Under the moonlight, they were shadowy and indistinct.

"I'm too tired to Apparate," said Ron. Hermione knew he wanted to see his family, but they would be safe enough now. There was no need to rush, and they were so tired they would probably splinch themselves.

"Shall we stay here?" suggested Harry.

"Yeah," said Hermione. "I don't want to go home yet." She didn't say it just to give Ron an easy way out from rushing home exhausted. There was, she felt, a storybook feeling to these moments. It was the quiet that was implied in each rendition of 'the end'; weary and joyful both. They worked together, linking their magic once more in a series of incantations they had honed through long practice these months of being on the run. The tent unpacked itself and shook itself out; pegs sank into the corners and the poles straightened up into peaks. They set the wards, as tight as ever. Old habits died hard. Around them, the three circles they had raised for the killing slowly faded in the cool of the night.

Before Hermione ducked inside, she stood in the doorway, looking out across the clearing towards the place Voldemort had been. It was as if he'd been erased, almost. She felt very distant from the girl she'd been that morning. Behind her, she heard a quiet whispering, lower and more subtle than the noise of Ron and Harry arguing over dinner. This whisper sounded like it came from the trees, from the sky, from the earth itself. She shook her head. Voldemort was dead, and she no longer had need of fairy tales. She ducked inside the tent, into the candlelight and the warmth.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck prickling slightly and the rate of her heart pick up. There was power in the circles they were casting; it was getting stronger, more raw and wild as they layered them one on top of the other. She stood on her side of the clearing, making a triangle with Ron and Harry. Their wands were out and she didn't have to open her eyes to feel them and their magic mingling with hers. The whole clearing resonated with the three of them, with their intricate spirographs of salt and spells. They wove them over and around one another, slowly drawing the turning places tighter.

She couldn't have said how long they had been standing there, patiently laying down the spells in long, unwearying strands. But the last one snapped into place eventually and Hermione's eyes flew open at the noise it made, vibrant and so loud the very earth must shake before it faded slowly. She walked forward, Harry and Ron doing the same, to stand at the centre of the circles. There were three, each humming away in conversation with the others, each open and strong. The magic that had made them was so old, so powerful, that Hermione could feel the chill of it on her skin. She wondered at how the three of them had made these, wondered how they had _dared_. Then she remembered the task at hand and raised her wand once more. Next to her, Harry and Ron's voices were effortlessly in step with hers. She stopped thinking, just chanting the circles down, sinking into bedrock.

The silence was nearly as chilling as the hum had been. Hermione avoided looking at the sky or the trees, witnesses to their work. She looked at Harry and Ron instead.

"Are you ready to call him?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded. Hermione hoped this would work. Her brain knew it should, but inside she had the fierce hope that the next five minutes would bring Voldemort's death, not theirs. They had planned this and worked for this, and these circles were made of their blood and fire. She didn't say any of this. Even though the circles were silent so that even she couldn't feel them, she could feel Harry and Ron and the incoherent jumble of their emotions. They had no need to talk. Ron nodded too and pulled Harry close for a kiss, the sort that couldn't even begin to hold everything they had to say to each other. As Harry pulled back, his hand found Hermione's and he tugged her close so the three of them were a knot like the complicated layers of their circles were. With their magic in tune, Hermione felt like Harry and Ron were part of her, and she could see the shape that the three of them made. She took a deep breath.

"Do it," she said. She removed reluctant hands from her boys, stepping back slowly until she was against the first circle. Harry and Ron moved too, slow steps until they stood like guardians on the edge of a precipice made with the power of words.

Harry spoke the incantation to awaken the bond between him and Voldemort. Hermione and Ron lent their power to him, to call Voldemort with the bond, to force him to follow it. Hermione watched Harry's face turn white with pain, watched Ron's hand shake, but mostly she felt the pull of their magic, strong and implacable. Voldemort could not help but come; he had no defence against this summons in all his dark repertoire.

He popped into the circle, dark and foul and reeking of death and decay. He was cold, but it was the cold of lack and ruin. Hermione wanted no part of it. She felt the signal and stepped back though the first circle, slowly stepping back to the edge of the second. Like watching a fish in a deep well, all half-seen flash of scales amidst the dark of water or weeds, she saw Voldemort turn and twist as the first circle rose from the bedrock. If he spoke, if he struggled, she could not hear him. The first circle twisted like a whirlwind, built up into shapes and dashed them down. Fascinated, Hermione watched as it worked itself out in erasure. As the last shreds hung like glass, she stepped back through the second circle to the third. This circle snapped up like teeth, like the old bones of exposed hillsides. It smothered Voldemort, or what was left of him.

She couldn't see Harry or Ron, but she didn't need to. She felt the signal to move back, to let the last circle rise like sheets of flame, speeding in to burn and rage. She tried to watch, keeping her eyes open for as long as she could, but the end came with a flash that blinded her. Hermione fell back into the darkness.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

It was a pleasant change to be able to take their time over packing up. For once, they had nothing pressing on them, bar the need to share the good news of Voldemort's defeat. That would be nice. For a Wizarding World that had been living under his shadow for far too long, they had no doubt that his death would be a relief. Ron was pressing hardest to pack up and go. He had family to get back to. Hermione wasn't looking forward to going to Australia. Somewhere under the relief she was tired.

They Apparated to the edge of The Burrow's boundaries. Hermione hated crossing the wards here. They were robust, but passing through them felt a little like being on the receiving end of one of Molly's lectures, or one of her well-meaning hugs. It was like being momentarily doused in smothering concern. The wards felt different today, lighter and less restrictive. Hermione wondered if perhaps the news had already travelled this far, though she couldn't imagine how. No one else knew of Voldemort's death.

"Something's different," said Ron. He sounded worried. Harry's hand was on his elbow, and Hermione could see that he felt the change too. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was some bigger variation than just the wards.

"The top story is gone," said Harry. His tone had the peculiar flatness that Hermione had come to associate with especially unpleasant discoveries and she felt her feeling of uncertainty shift into dread. She stopped walking for a second, turning to the pair of them. Their faces mirrored her own; she didn't have to ask to know that they all felt some kind of indefinable feeling that something wasn't quite right here. It was a well-worn instinct in all of them, and something they had learned to trust.

"The wards aren't right," said Hermione. She reached out without thinking, finding Ron's hand waiting for her. They linked their fingers together as she pulled out her wand and prepared to run some scans. She didn't look, but she knew that Harry would have his wand out too, and Ron would be piecing together all that they knew and had seen, coming up with theories and strategies.

"Are you coming in or not?" called a woman from the porch. Breath catching in her throat as she looked up, Hermione saw a woman who should have been Molly. She had the hair, just greying at the temples, and the apron, but this was _not_ her. She was jovial, unafraid. This was what Molly Weasley should have been like, what she would have been like, if not for Voldemort and the years of war on top of the ordinary stress of her family. Hermione felt her skin crawl, and Ron's fingers tightened painfully on her hand.

"Excuse me," said Harry, stepping forward, "we're looking for Molly Weasley."

"That's me," she said. Coming down the steps towards them, she stopped with her hands on her hips and looked at them. Hermione could hardly keep her eyes from her face. This Molly Weasley looked younger, less careworn. She looked _wrong_. "And who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry said. "Hermione Granger." He faltered and glanced at Ron. Hermione looked too. Ron was faintly green and his fingers were shaking in hers. "And this is Ron Weasley," he finished.

"Ron Weasley?" Molly asked. She looked a little interested, like she might try to find out later how they were related. "And you look like you could be one of my sons, even. What a coincidence. Now, what can I do for you?"

Hermione cast desperately around for something to say. She wasn't sure what one was supposed to do in situations like this. Was there a standard practice to follow when it seemed that you'd been dropped into an alternate universe? Then Molly snapped her fingers and Hermione's attention was caught by the simple movement.

"Ah, now I recognise your names," Molly said. "Harry, Ron and Hermione, from the old tales." She laughed, and Hermione was shocked to hear the sound. "It's a bit early for Trick or Treating, and you're a bit old for it," she said. Harry forced a laugh too.

"Caught us," he said. "We'll leave you alone now." He turned and Hermione saw that he was waxen pale. She didn't doubt that she would be too. Ron looked worse, though. He was nearly translucent, like he'd been rubbed all over with an eraser. She kept his hand in hers, tugging on it as they went back down the path. The wards seemed to be laughing as she pulled Ron through. Behind them both, Harry had a hand curled over Ron's shoulder. She turned and they found themselves in a tangle of limbs, clinging on to each other in the hope of erasing the amusement of the wards, the pain of non-recognition.

Hermione felt blank. She'd expected many things in the fight against Voldemort. There had been mental sketches of torture, of death quick, or slow. There had been dark lined visions of defeat and ethereal tracings of victory and triumph. But this was neither winning or losing, and she had nothing to reference as she tried to make sense of what she had under her hands. All she could feel was the shaking of Ron's skin, the brush of Harry's hair against her cheek as his lips moved almost soundlessly on Ron's jaw.

These were the moments where she still felt strange, when she was pressed against these two boys and all she knew was the whirring of her brain. There was tenderness in her hand on the back or Ron's head, and Harry's robes clutched in the other fist, but mostly her brain whirred insistently. She was already flicking through the words that had been exchanged, relying on Harry to press a kiss to Ron's cheek and reassure him with the warmth of his skin. Hermione had her brain; that was what she was aiming to work with. She'd long gotten used to it, but she still had to push aside a niggle of doubt about herself.

"The old tales," she said, clearing her throat against the hoarseness of her voice. "She said we were in the old tales."

"You think we might find an answer there?" asked Harry.

"We have to look somewhere," said Hermione. "We have to do something." As she said it, she could feel the weariness on her shoulders settling a little more deeply. She felt it, too, in Harry's indrawn breath and the way Ron's shoulders tightened even further.

"Where can we go?" asked Harry. He sounded lost and Hermione smoothed back his hair from his forehead and smiled. It felt like the sort of smile which would shred her heart, but she saw Harry echo it and felt absurdly lighter.

"Until we know what's going on, we need to be safe," said Ron. His face was red and blotchy, but his voice was grim through the thickness of his tears.

"You choose," said Harry. Hermione thought of the options. They still had the tent, and it felt like home. Hogwarts was out of the question, if The Burrow was no safe harbour. Hermione could scarcely remember her little room in her parent's house; she didn't want to find that they didn't remember her either. It had been a long time since they'd been certain of haven.

"Let's go back to the clearing," said Hermione. "The remnants of the wards we raised will still be there."

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

They found the perfect location eventually: sheer cliff on one side, dense forest on another, and a wide opening to grassland on the third. It was isolated, which was nearly as important as the other factors in its choice. Once they started raising the circles, they couldn't risk being disturbed. Spells and warding would help, but it was better to choose a place far from most people. Hermione still had only the faintest clue of how the three circles would go together; there were no records of the effects they had as they were raised and put in place.

Harry stood on his side of the clearing, with the cliff face behind him. Hermione thought he looked small against the grey stone. She walked the edge of the forest, looking at the curve of the branches and calculating distances in her head.

"This earth has good bones," said Ron, striding in from the grassland. Hermione turned from the trees and walked toward the middle of the clearing too. She and Ron met in the middle and waited for Harry.

"If this wasn't a threesome, that would have been perfect for a slow-mo run in, like in the movies," he said. Hermione laughed but Ron looked puzzled.

"What's slow-mo?" he asked.

"It's a Muggle thing," said Hermione. "Lovers do it when they run toward each other and fling themselves into each other's arms."

"But why can't we do it?" asked Ron.

"Well, we'd probably fall over if we tried it," said Harry.

"True," said Ron. He obviously wasn't interested in getting to the bottom of this Muggle mystery. "Anyway, the light is good, and the earth feels good too. What about you two? What do you think?"

"Yeah, that cliff is solid. I think it will stand up to any impact."

"The woods feel old," said Hermione. "I like them."

"Good," said Ron. "I'm starving. We should choose a campsite and pitch the tent. Unless we're not going to stay here."

The three of them exchanged glances. It would be better not to have to move all the time. Hermione was so sick of the tent and it's closeness, and also of the constant effort that went into moving.

"We can't draw attention to this place," she said reluctantly. "We've been looking for weeks to find this clearing; I don't want to have to start again if we get found. It's better to keep moving."

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "I would love to never have to raise a set of wards for a campsite again, but I agree."

"Cheer up," said Ron. "It's good practice for the circles. We're going to have to have perfect warding to manage these spells and raise them."

"Now that we've found it, we should measure it out so we can start planning," said Hermione. "Unless his highness here is going to faint if he doesn't eat."

"I'm a growing boy," protested Ron.

"Have a snack and hold the measuring tape with the other hand," said Harry. "Multi-tasking is possible."

"I remember the last time I tried multi-tasking around you," said Ron, leering and slinging his arm around Harry's shoulder. Hermione laughed as she watched Harry's ears turn red.

"Was that why you were late this morning?" she asked.

"Are we measuring or not?" asked Harry, a little huffily. Hermione laughed again and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Ron kissed his other cheek and took the tape measure.

"Come on," he said. "Snack time awaits us."

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

This time, the trees were silent around them as they pitched the tent and raised the wards. Hermione was as painstaking over their placement as she had ever been. The joyous abandon of the night before was gone, sunk back into uncertainty. It had been so nice to put down that anxious burden for a night. At the other end of each spell they cast Harry and Ron were silent; the three worked with an understanding born of long necessity. When they were done, Hermione stood again by the flap of the canvas door and looked out. The sky in the far west was still stained red and Hermione took a deep breath as she watched it fading.

Ducking inside rather than watch the last scrap of light fade, Hermione found every candle they possessed lit and positioned around the lounge area. Harry and Ron sat on the couch, although all Hermione could see of Harry was his hand in Ron's hair, and the sprawl of his leg over Ron's lap. This was familiar, more than the light. Hermione gathered the cup of tea one of them had made for her and sat on the other side of Ron. Harry let go of him, both of them breathing fast, and Hermione bumped Ron with her shoulder companionably.

"Feeling left out?" asked Harry, with a cheeky grin that Hermione recognised with relief. He looked more relaxed now that they were tucked away and safe. Ron still had that worrisome edge of translucence to his skin, but even he managed a smile as Hermione took his hand and rubbed her thumb over his knuckles.

"I think I'm secure enough in my place, thanks," she said. It was true; she never doubted the relationship they had. It was something she'd never thought she'd have, but it worked. Harry smiled even bigger as she took a sip of her tea and let her thumb continue to wander over Ron's skin. "I've been thinking," she continued.

"That's usually the start of something really good or really bad," said Harry. It made Ron chuckle, so she just stuck her tongue out at him and took another sip of her tea.

"Hermione's thinking is always good," said Ron. "It's just sometimes other things are not."

"See, a victim of circumstance," said Hermione.

"Tell us what you've been thinking," said Harry.

"Tell me what you know about the Tales of Beedle the Bard," said Hermione, watching the puzzled frowns gathering on the faces of both Harry and Ron. She couldn't explain it, but that book was the first thing she'd thought of when not-Molly had spoken. She remembered, too, from her primary school days, all the hints of trouble much deeper and darker under the surface of the nice tales, but she didn't want to speak of that right now. She wanted to see what they thought first.

"Tales for children," said Harry. "Isn't that it?"

"Tales for children to teach them adult lessons," said Ron. He sat up straighter and looked at Hermione. "That's always been the way. That's the purpose of them. I remember my mother-" He stopped for a second and Hermione watched Harry's fingers tighten on Ron's shoulder and deliberately kept her own grasp gentle. Opening his eyes again, Ron continued, "She told us that the Tales were collected as a way of remembering, but in disguise. Few would suspect a book for children. It was a strategy, she said. It was the first I ever learned, that of looking innocent and playing dumb, until such time as you can no longer disguise yourself."

Hermione summoned the book from her room, watching it fly through the air like a dumpy old crow, almost blind and featherless. Yet this book held secrets that changed the world. She nearly dropped it as it smacked into her hand.

"Is it just me," said Harry, "or does it look bigger than it did last time we looked in it?"

Hermione opened to the title page, looking at the tiny thumbnail illustrations and the titles for each story. There it was, at the end, _The Three and the Warded Circles_. Hermione slammed the book shut and let out a long, shuddering breath. She wanted to read it, dive in and get to the end of the mystery, but she wasn't sure that she'd be able to make her way through. She was close to the end of what she could manage.

"Oh, _fuck_," she said. She looked up to see Ron and Harry both staring at her, a mixture of curiosity and exhaustion written on their faces. Hermione's head spun and she felt like everything outside this tent had been torn apart and stitched back together like an unfortunate exercise in surrealism. She wasn't sure that the world would still hold her weight, were she to open the door and step out onto the grass. Maybe this is why the trees had laughed, and why they all remembered the sky differently when they woke up.

"We have each other," said Harry. His voice was firm, almost harsh, but Hermione found comfort in the truth of it.

"We have each other," confirmed Ron. He looked from Harry to Hermione, and turned his hand over to squeeze her fingers.

"That's good," she said. "It's good to know that." She squeezed Ron's hand back and dropped the book onto the table.

"In the morning, we should find Dumbledore," she said. "He gave us this book for a reason."

"We should," agreed Ron. "Do you want to read it tonight?" He looked pale still, and the worry clearly lurked under the surface. He didn't sound like he really wanted to dive in to try to find the answers right now. Hermione rubbed her thumb over the inside of Ron's wrist.

"But I expect that you two want to affirm your undying love by having noisy sex, right?" she asked. Harry grinned at her and she watched Ron's ears go red.

"Merlin, you forget a silencing charm once and you're never allowed to forget it," he said.

"No, never," said Hermione. Standing, she moved her hand to Ron's shoulder and leaned forward to kiss Harry. His lips under hers were rough, and she felt reassured by the simple touch. He was right, they had each other and that was the most important thing. She would put a soundproofing charm on her room, just in case. There were some things she didn't need to know about her boyfriends.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Hermione looked up from the book she was studying as Ron dropped a pile of parchment in front of her and sank into the chair opposite. Harry put a cup of tea by her elbow and sat down next to her. She smiled wearily at them both and wrapped her hands around the cup. She still wasn't sure that she understood what Dumbledore had given them. It was slippery, couched in unusual words and with pieces missing in odd places. She was coming to hate the parchment it was written on; even her copy, made neatly onto a clean sheet, was hateful.

"I take it you're no closer to understanding what the point of the spell is," said Harry.

"No," she said. "Just more veiled warnings about consequences, but, again, they are not ones of death and mayhem that these spells generally hint at."

"You look tired," said Ron.

"So do you," she said.

"I'd like to go outside and fly," said Harry.

"Is it still raining?" Hermione asked. The glum faces of Ron and Harry told her the answer to that. She sighed and put down her pen.

"There is nothing to this," she said. "We have the spell; we have everything we need to do this. Why are we hesitating?"

"We're not sure," said Harry.

"It seems perfect, doesn't it? Dumbledore gives us this spell, folded up in a book he leaves to you... but something seems wrong," Ron said.

Hermione folded her parchment copy and opened it up again, creasing and smoothing it alternately in nervous movements. Her mind turned it over and over, the three circles they would raise, the way they would be hidden, the way the three of them would trigger them and cause the erasure of whatever was inside. They could do it. She was sure of that already. They trusted each other; were closer than she'd ever imagined that she could be with other people. They could cast the spells. That wasn't it. Harry put his hand over hers to stop the movement.

"It's because there's no context," she said. "It's like it sprang fully formed from the pages of a fairy tale."

Across the table, Ron nodded. She knew he understood. Next to her, Harry sighed.

"It will work," said Hermione. "I know it will work."

"Then we go ahead, and keep trying to find out more as we work," said Harry.

Hermione's brain hurt, trying to weigh up all the factors at play. She sighed and looked at Harry, then at Ron. "I just wish we knew more," she said.

"You and me both," said Ron. He reached across the table and put his hand over top of Harry's and Hermione's. He smiled and squeezed them and Hermione's breath caught. She'd never thought that she could have the effortless affection and touch they had built between the three of them. It still surprised her sometimes. She smiled at both Ron and Harry, trying to overlay a rueful resignation over her joy, but Harry's answering smile was nothing but happy. She hugged the moment to herself and pushed aside the nagging worry about the spell and all the unanswered questions that besieged her still.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

The morning brought no new counsel, just a chill grey day and wet grass outside the tent door. She stood there and watched the clouds chase each other across the sky as her tea slowly cooled. The wind was damp, and behind her she could hear Ron singing some old song she didn't recognise. Harry's voice was a counterpoint of objection; he liked people singing to actually be able to carry a tune. Hermione didn't care. No one in her family could sing, and the half-broken melodies her parents had managed were still powerful. Her heart ached as she wondered about her parents in this world. Those questions would have to wait, though. As she sipped at her tea, she thought of the road the three of them had followed for the past year. There had been no hints of this change, but her mind nagged at her that she must have missed something.

"Are you ready to go?" asked Harry, coming to the door and standing next to her. He had on his worn cloak, the one he wore when he wasn't sure if there was going to be fighting or not. He'd never had much success at getting out bloodstains. She gave a smile and sent her tea cup flying back into the kitchen. Ron gave a squawk as he narrowly avoided being hit, then again as she summoned her cloak.

"You're a menace," he said. Hermione smiled and stepped out the door, swinging her cloak over her shoulders and pinning it closed. She'd chosen to wear her darkest, heaviest one, with the swirling silver paw prints like those of Crookshanks creeping up from the hem. She felt stronger in it, even if it was a little too heavy for the day. Ron closed the door behind them as Harry checked that they had the book.

"I looked Dumbledore up in the Floo Directory; they have Apparition Co-ordinates too," Ron said. "Did either of you bother to check that?"

"I didn't even know we had a Floo Directory," Harry replied.

"It's good to be prepared," said Ron. He assumed a virtuous expression for a moment before it faltered and cracked. Harry laughed anyway, and Hermione pretended that it hadn't been thin. They needed all the bolstering they could get, all of them. "And none of us want to go to the Ministry. Anyway, here it is."

Hermione nodded and looked at the book, repeating the co-ordinates under her breath. Avoiding the Ministry was a very good idea; no matter what else had changed, she couldn't imagine that the Ministry would be sympathetic to three kids claiming to be storybook heroes. Despite just finishing her cup of tea, her mouth was dry and she was worried about what they would find. She whispered the string of numbers to herself again, felt Harry counting them off on his fingers next to her. She closed her eyes and let the numbers slip into intent.

Stepping out of the odd squeeze of Apparition, she gasped as the cool wind hit her. She was glad of her cloak. Ron and Harry stepped out beside her.

"Oh, Merlin," she said. Ron grabbed Harry's elbow. "He lives here?" They looked down the long village street, past the tiny Muggle shops. "The statue is gone. He lives _here_?"

"Looks like it," replied Ron. "Bee Cottage. It's," he swiveled slowly in place and pointed, "there."

The cottage was tiny, fronted with local stone and with an overgrown garden.

"Just what is this place?" she burst out. "What is it? Why is it so _wrong_?"

"Maybe you're wrong," suggested a voice from behind them. Hermione recognised it, but it was wrong too. It was too smooth, too cultured and fake. She turned anyway and her breath caught. Here was Dumbledore, but he was not _theirs_. He had a slick, feral look and Hermione shuddered. There was nothing well-meaning in his face, none of the kindliness that Hermione had associated with her headmaster for so long. This was worse than the not-Molly, worse because she'd seemed more like she should have been. This Dumbledore was less. She swallowed hard.

"It's possible," Ron said. "Do you have an eye for the wrong?"

"Three kids with their hands on their wands, standing outside my little house?" Dumbledore's smile was not pleasant. "I'd say something is wrong with this picture. I thought the Ministry would at least have the decency to send Aurors to kill me."

"Fortunately for all of us, we're not here from the Ministry. We've heard of you, that's all."

"Heard of me?" asked Dumbledore. "If you say so."

"We were wondering if we could ask you something," Ron said.

"Oh?" asked Dumbledore. Hermione had a moment of surreality, looking at the tableau they made, with the three of them huddled like poor statuettes, and Dumbledore standing in the middle of the road in his dusty robes with his face so sly. She felt almost sick, clutching her wand tighter and wishing there was something she could do. She'd never thought she could wish for action. "Go on then, I expect I've heard all the questions. It's not even the anniversary of his death, yet here we have vultures on my doorstep."

"We're not here to ask you about - whose death?" asked Ron.

"See?" mocked Dumbledore. He shook his head, slowly, like there was something wrong with all three of them. "That's all you're interested in. Well, baby crows come to pluck at my liver, you'll get naught from me. I don't feel like talking to you of Grindelwald today." He moved past them and inside the gate, shutting it with a firm click. It sounded very final. He turned, though, and smiled that unpleasant smile once more. "Don't come in," he said. "You'll find the wards are... unpleasantly off-putting."

"Grindelwald?" asked Harry. "That was Dumbledore?" He sounded blank, and Hermione recognised the feeling. Ron was just barely shaking with anger next to her.

"That was some version of him," he said. "Some version. Something happened."

"Research," said Hermione.

"Your answer for everything," said Harry.

"I know," she replied. "It's all I have. My mind, books and the two of you." Harry's look softened for a moment and he pressed a kiss to her temple. Ron slung his arm around Harry's shoulder and smiled. It looked strained, but it was there. Hermione knew that they would be okay. They could get through anything. In that instant, they were unassailable, in the circle made by their bodies and their smiles, the regard that stretched from one to another.

"Library," said Ron. "I'm curious about this Dumbledore. And maybe we should just read that damn story."

"Yeah, and you know that books get Hermione hot," said Harry.

"Hotter than the two of you ever could," she said. She smiled, remembering how it had taken Harry a long time to get comfortable enough to tease her. There was love and understanding in it, a sense of how their relationship worked. She didn't want sex; it was true that books got her more excited.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Hermione held the book tightly in both hands as she walked away from the Headmaster's office - the Headmistress's office now. It wouldn't be for long, if what she had read in the Prophet this morning was true. Harry and Ron walked either side of her, and she knew she should be amused by the way their robes billowed dark and heavy around them in an almost Snapely way. She wasn't. She wanted to get away from the Castle as quickly as she could. For the first time ever, this felt unsafe for her, for the three of them. She knew that Harry and Ron would be ready to draw their wands on the instant. She kept tight hold of the book. It was heavy and the leather cover made her hands tingle.

"We need to disappear for a while," she said, once they were outside the door and safe from being overheard. "I don't like the news this morning. The Ministry taking over Hogwarts, Voldemort on the move. It's not good."

"I know where Dad keeps the tent," said Ron.

"It will be like camping," said Harry.

"But with wards as thick as we can make them," said Hermione.

"And a lot more books," agreed Ron.

"Why would Dumbledore give you a book of fairy tales?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," said Hermione. She felt exposed as they swept down the path and out the gates. It was a horrible feeling, with the only comfort being from Harry and Ron's closeness. She would feel better when they were tucked away behind enchanted canvas and their own wards.

"I don't like it," said Ron. "Let's go get the tent. We have a camping date."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself with the book to her chest as they stepped outside the Castle wards. "Can we Apparate directly into the shed at The Burrow?" she asked.

"No," said Ron. "Let's meet beside the pond at the quarry." Hermione nodded and gingerly removed one hand from the book to retrieve her wand. There was something unusual about this book, and she wasn't sure if she even wanted to open it. She nodded at the boys and Disapparated, stumbling a little as she reappeared. Next to her, Harry and Ron popped into existence again. They retrieved the tent and left before Molly could see them. She was unhappy about the three of them camping, but Hermione knew that this would be best for them all. Harry took her hand and squeezed it as they waited for Ron to shrink the tent and put it into his pocket. She smiled up at him a little wanly, but didn't pull her hand away. The contact warmed her.

"Let's camp by the sea tonight," she said. Ron nodded as Harry unfurled a map and pointed to an uninhabited stretch of coast. She nodded. It wasn't really important where they stayed tonight. She mostly needed to hear the waves and think of the relentless currents of change. The waves would drown out the sound of Ron and Harry, too. They weren't the best with silencing charms.

They were, however, good with wards. The tent was up and the wards pinned strongly and overlapped like warm dragon scales. Hermione took a deep breath for what felt like the first time since she'd read the paper this morning and heard about the new Minister for magic and the changes at Hogwarts. Ron put his arm around her shoulder and tugged her close, dropping an absent kiss onto the top of her head. Hermione pulled away with a sigh and crossed to the table with the book. She hadn't let go of it yet, not properly, and it felt like her fingers were picking up the grain.

Harry was already making tea as she sat, Ron opposite, and it wasn't long before he put a cup of tea down next to each of them. She smiled and opened the first page of the book.

"Why fairy tales?" she asked, flicking through the pages slowly.

"A metaphorical statement?" asked Ron.

"You've been listening to Percy again," replied Harry.

"No," said Ron, "it's an idea. It's something about... the overwhelming odds and the repetitive shapes of the words. These are the things that make fairy tales happen, right?"

"All fairy tales are metaphors," said Hermione. "But for what?"

The boys were silent as she flipped through more pages. Ron slurped noisily at his tea and Hermione didn't have to look up to know that Harry was probably elbowing him. Ron would just smile fondly. This was the familiarity and repetition; the three of them in a tired circle with cups of tea and more questions than they could begin to find answers to. The parchment pages of the book crackled as she turned them, smoothing each one with her hand. Each sheet seemed to tingle more, as if the magic was more tightly packed in the middle. She gasped as she opened the middle page.

"What is it?" asked Harry. Hermione spread open the folded sheet of very old parchment, biting her lip against the cold tingle of magic that bled off it.

"It's a spell," she said. "The Three Circles of Erasure."

She looked up and met their expectant gaze. She did not feel as elated as she should. This was Dumbledore's last message to them, a parchment that tingled with the oldest of magics and a book of fairy tales, and all she could think of was how uncertain the future seemed. Ron and Harry seemed to feel the flatness too. Ron's hand tightened over Harry's on the tabletop and she almost pulled her hand back as he reached for her too. She left it there, though, reaching tentatively for Harry with the other. They had to be everything for each other now.

&gt;&gt;&gt;&gt;

Hermione's stomach twisted as she opened the box that had housed the original parchment. She wasn't sure what she had wanted to see; at least a sheaf of parchments in place of the single one she'd been given was not completely expected. In the lounge, Harry was sorting through back issues of _The Prophet_. Dumbledore had mentioned Grindelwald, and that was enough to get his curiosity up; they'd stopped by one of the London Wizarding Libraries and acquired their copies. Hermione didn't even care anymore if that was stealing or not; they needed them and would return them when they were done, and that was enough for her. Ron stood beside her at the table, close enough that she could hear his gasp of breath as she took the lid off and set it down on the table. The tent was very quiet for a moment.

"He didn't give us everything?" Ron asked. His voice was grim and his hand tight on his wand, ready to cast a shielding spell.

"Looks like it," she said. "I can feel the magic bleeding off these without even needing to touch them."

"Worse than the original sheet he gave us?"

"Much worse." She reached for the top sheet anyway, lifting it out and putting it on the table. It was identical to the one he'd left in the book. She took the next one out and laid it next to the first one. Confusion began to give way to anger as she skimmed it. "This is a list of safety precautions. All the things we had to guess at and infer, and hope for the best on."

"Why didn't he give us that?" asked Ron. "It makes no sense."

Hermione placed the third and fourth sheets on the table. As she lifted the last one out, her mouth tightened. "Because each safety precaution, and each piece of information here, comes with warnings. Consequences. The details of why they're needed." She swore sharply under her breath as words jumped out at her: danger, erasure, loss, ruin, forget. She looked down at them and then up at Ron.

"He didn't give us the full picture, then," Ron said. Hermione snorted. That was an understatement. She started at the top of the new pages, blinking at the old-fashioned copperplate that had faded against the parchment. Ron stood behind her for a moment before going over to join Harry. Hermione lost herself in the scholarship of the moment; it would be futile to give herself over to anger when she wasn't even sure of the extent of Dumbledore's duplicity.

A muttered exclamation from Harry made her look up. She almost hoped to catch them kissing; the reassurance would be nice. But Harry was frowning at the paper he held while Ron was shuffling through another stack on the floor. She went back to the crabbed writing that unfolded the true significance of the circles and what the three of them had done. As she read, the chill of the paper sunk into her, until her fingers went numb and her eyes ached.

She looked up finally, sure that the world would have turned around her as she read. Harry and Ron were still bent over their pile of papers, however, so not too much time could have passed. Stretching as she stood, Hermione headed into the kitchen to brew tea. Her stomach was sour with the lies she'd uncovered and the revelation of what they had done. She tapped the kettle with her wand and fished three teabags from the tin.

"Found it," announced Harry. His voice didn't have a triumphant ring to it. He sounded grim, as bitter as betrayal.

"Tea," she said, "and we'll swap stories." When she brought the cups over, Harry and Ron were jammed together on one side of the table with the paper open in front of them. "Can you do the milk?" she asked Ron. He looked up and complied, tapping each cup and turning the contents creamy. She sat on the other side, surveying the unpleasant spread of ancient spell in front of her. "You first."

"A fascinating story," said Harry. Hermione hoped he wouldn't drag it out. "It seems that Dumbledore killed Grindelwald, but not when he did in our timeline. He killed him much earlier, just after he'd left school in fact. It seems that Grindelwald was visiting in Godric's Hollow and they became friends. _The Prophet_ implies they were lovers. There was a disagreement involving Dumbledore and his sister. Grindelwald died."

"Grindelwald never became powerful?" she asked.

"No," said Ron, "and Dumbledore's career was ruined. Even though the sister was found to have killed Grindelwald, no one really believed that."

"He lost everything," she said blankly. "He lost everything he had in this world."

"Everything," agreed Ron. "There was no war in Europe for the Wizarding World. The Gaunt family died out years earlier.Tom Riddle was never born. There was no war caused by him, either."

Hermione blinked down at the table, hardly able to believe this. The Wizarding World, not torn apart in wars and division, was almost impossible to imagine. She thought of the Molly Weasley they had met, with her ready smile and youthful face, the lightness of her wards, and wondered how that joy had spread.

"The world's rewritten," she said. She looked up in time to see Harry's face, and Ron's, and knew they were thinking of their families and wondering what had happened to them. She knew, now.

"Now you," said Harry.

"The Circles," she started, "it's true that they erase what's inside. That's what happened, that's why Riddle never existed. We knew that. But the rest... he didn't tell us about what would happen to us." She looked up and met Ron and Harry's eyes. "We get erased too."

"What?" asked Ron. He looked as shaken as she felt. She shrugged, though, too worn down with rage and shock to do more.

"We've been erased," she repeated. "We're scapegoats, the ones who are sacrificed so that the spell can happen. Our story gets rewritten for children and put into the book, and we... disappear."

"But we're still here," said Harry.

"We're not remembered," responded Ron. "Erased... but why get rid of Grindelwald? Why destroy Dumbledore too?"

"It's not clear," said Hermione. "But the papers say we should be willing, or we'll not be the only ones affected."

"So, dead, he had nothing to lose from making us do this," said Ron.

"More importantly," said Harry, "what do we do now?"

Hermione looked from the parchments and her tea to her boys across the table. They sat there, aghast, and she wanted to comfort them and hold them close. She had no words to give them, no hope. This was not a happy ever after, seated under the worn canvas roof of this tired tent, three tired children lost in the world.

"I don't know," she said. "The spell doesn't say."

"The book," said Ron, pulling out his wand and summoning it. He opened it and flipped through the pages until he got to their story. Hermione glimpsed the pictures of them, tiny under the trees and the shimmering walls of the circles. She wished she could feel the joy and fear, the _life_ she'd felt then. Now, all she had was bitterness and defeat, and her empty hands. As if he read her thoughts, Harry reached out and squeezed her hand while Ron muttered under his breath and flipped pages.

He reached the end and read out loud, "and they built a house under the trees and lived there for the rest of their lives." He looked up at Harry and Hermione, and Hermione heard his next words like they were being hammered into her bones. "Welcome to happy ever after."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Because After Nothing, What Is Left? (A Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503942) by [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/pseuds/flipflop_diva)




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